


Dorthonion Immortal

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, First Age, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Good pacing, Poetry, Subjects - Geography, Subjects - Plants/Environment, Writing - Engaging style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A song of the Bëorings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dorthonion Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

In Northern lands the sun is cold, the ground is hard and dead,  
The groaning ice your lullaby and granite for your bed.  
No birds sing in Dor Daidelos, so look for me elsewhere:  
You'll find me on a windswept moor with heather in my hair.

In Eastern lands the rivers wend about the mountains tall,  
But oh! to me the bluest peak is nothing but a wall,  
And though the caves are lined with gold, it's not enough for me:  
My treasure is the golden gorse beneath the alder tree.

In Southern lands the woods are warm, the grass grows ever green,  
From Doriath to Nargothrond the earth has blessed been,  
And all her peoples prosper, but my love is for my land:  
You'll find me climbing corestones with a catkin in my hand.

In Western lands the sunset is extinguished by the sea,  
And Hithlum is a haven but a home she'll never be,  
So even though the end of day burns with a beauty bright,  
I'll linger here and watch the tarns reflect the starry night.

The bravest men were mothered here that e'er their country served,  
And by our deeds her name is for eternity preserved:  
Therefor her wonders now I sing that when our time is done,  
The world will still remember we were once Dorthonion.


End file.
